


Your Ex Lover is Not Quite Dead

by TheLoonWatches



Category: SPY x FAMILY (Manga)
Genre: Angst, Everything Does Not Turn Out Okay AU, F/M, High School Reunion, aged up AU, i am so distracted, past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24633913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLoonWatches/pseuds/TheLoonWatches
Summary: Damian sees a familiar, welcome, and unwelcome face.
Relationships: Anya Forger/Damian Desmond, Damian Desmond & Anya Forger
Comments: 24
Kudos: 192





	Your Ex Lover is Not Quite Dead

Damian shouldn’t really be surprised. It was a high school reunion afterall. Clearly, he shouldn’t count out the chance of seeing her again, even after 10 years. But to say that he wasn't surprised would be a lie.

Anya Forger was talking to Bill Watkins and Becky Blackbell. Watkins managed to grow twice his size from 1st grade, now that he thought about it, and just as imposing. Blackbell seemed to keep her baby face and still preferred her hair in some sort of do, but was otherwise an average lady. As for Anya . . . .

Anya laughed at whatever Blackbell had said, and Watkins was just left confused. Then her eyes opened, and she turned her head toward him.

He knew that he was caught, but he still averted his gaze to the drink in his hand. On their own, his eyes glanced at her again, and the panic set in once he saw she was approaching him.

Damian couldn’t run, that would just make him look more guilty. So he resigned himself to his fate, and faced the Forger. And was trapped by her minty green eyes.

She smiled, that knowing smile of hers, and said, “Hello, Damian Desmond.”

His eyes narrowed. “Hello, Anya Forger.”

They stared each other down for a total of three seconds, before Anya cracked, and scrunched her nose with her grin. “Still a jerk, huh?”

“I could say the same to you.” 

“Yes, but I earned that title.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means, Damian.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Forger.”

Her grin widened, and another laugh bubbled up from her throat. “After all these years, and you’re still one of the hardest people I’ve ever interrogated.”

His eyebrow quirked, but he couldn’t deny the twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Interrogated?”

“Yeah. . . . oh, you don’t know my job, do you? I became a police investigator after college. I guess you could say that it just . . . spoke to me.” She smirked, as if making a joke that no one else but she knew; which Damian found familiar about her. “What have you been doing all this time, Damian?”

She would probably mock him for his career choice. He had gained a multitude of reactions from people who expected something more . . . worthy. Of his position. It wasn’t an occupation that was bad or disgusting, but it wasn’t to the same extent to his late father’s nor his brother’s. But it was his. And if Damian was anything, he was  _ not _ a liar.

“I became a librarian at the national library,” he stated. He refused to move his gaze away from Forger. That would feign a shame for his career. And the last thing he needed was pity.

But Forger simply nodded. “That’s cool. It suits you.”

Damian controlled the surprise that sprung into his chest.  _ It’s a minor thing, Damian. Not everyone is going to be shaming your job. _

“Where’s your entourage?”

“Hm?”

“Oh, you know what I’m talking about. The kids that followed you around all the time in school. One had buck teeth and the other had really tall hair.”

Oh. Those two. Emile and Ewen. “After high school, we . . . lost contact.”  _ They dropped me like a deflated balloon.  _

Forger’s smile shrunk, and she looked down at the drink in her hand. “Aw, gotcha.”

There she goes again. Like she’s reading his mind. She always had that air about her, like she knew everything that made up a person. Like he was an experiment to be studied. And his scowl was recorded as such, in every test that was her.

“Welp,” Forger said suddenly. “It was nice seeing you. Have a good one.” And with that, she turned and walked away, with a careless wave over her shoulder. Leaving Damian in his chilled bubble.

.

.

.

It started pouring the moment he stepped outside. Puddles formed faster than a taxi could arrive, and he had to live with the anxiety of his leather shoes getting soaked. He was glad that he had the common sense to bring an umbrella.

A taxi stopped at the curb once he flagged it down. He opened the door, sat, and said as he was shaking the water from his umbrella, “513 Avenue.”

They had barely rolled onto the road before the taxi pulled to the curb again. “Mind if someone joins you back there, buddy?” the balding taxi driver asked.

Damian huffed, but obliged. The taxi driver waved the customer to the other side of the vehicle, and once the door opened, Damian was met with those familiar, minty eyes.

All Forger said was, “Oh,” before sliding into the side opposite of him. She said to the taxi driver, “500 Main, please.”

The taxi splashed in drain water before rolling onto the road, and picking up speed. The windshield wipers  _ thwip-thwapped  _ against the onslaught of rain.

Desmond and Forger both looked out of their respective windows. Not like there was much to see. It was all dreary gray cast by the storm clouds, and rain making it all drearier. It was simply avoiding the other. Damian glanced back at her once or twice, but that was it.

Then his cell phone buzzed. He wiggled it out of his pocket and looked at the contact. Forger must have too.

“You have a sitter for your dog?” Forger smirked with bemusement.

“Of course I do,” he responded curtly. “My dog is just a puppy. I don’t want her destroying my apartment.”  _ Or gaining separation anxiety.  _ Damian opened the text the dogsitter sent, and he was loath to read that Ophelia had had an accident on his carpet.

“What breed do you have?” Forger shuffled in her seat to face him, her knees pointing toward his.

“Ostanian Shepherd, purebred.” Damian couldn’t deny the smile on his face. “Ostanian Shepherds are one of the most loyal breeds. Just as a dog should be.”  _ Just as my first Shepherd was. _

Forger nodded, and leaned back in her seat. “I got a doggy at home, too. His name is Burgess, which is completely appropriate, cuz he’s such a big doof. I got him from a shelter awhile back; I think 2 years ago?” She shrugged.

A low hum was Damian’s only response.

“Do you want to see some pictures of him?” He tensed from the suddenness of the question, and saw that Forger had already pulled her phone from her purse and typing in the password. 

_ No.  _ “. . . I suppose.”

What was wrong with him? Even now, he never got the correct answers from his stupid mouth when it came to her.

Forger smiled in her specifically smug way, and turned the screen toward him. In the photo was a blue-gray pitbull with a white chest, staring guiltily at the camera. “This was when I caught him going through my trash.” Her finger flicked the screen for the next image. “And this is when we went for our first nature hike.” Indeed, it showed Forger kneeling with her dog, both sticking their tongues out, as they overlooked the view next to a steep hill.

Forger’s head flew up and straight forward, her hand snatched the overhead grip. Her other hand grabbed his arm, dropping her phone. The taxi screeched to a halt, causing them to jerk forward and only stopped by their seatbelts. Both of their belongings slammed into the barrier between them and the driver. The taxi tipped ever so slightly before falling back into place in a complete stop.

Damian’s seatbelt had stopped him from smashing into the barrier, but not without choking him in the process. He coughed as he rubbed his throat. Forger placed her hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Damian didn’t answer her, since he was still coughing, but once his throat had some control back, he rasped, “What - the hell - was that?”

The taxi driver scrolled the small window to the side, and said, “Sorry, folks. There’s a crash up ahead. We’re gonna have a longer trip.”

Through the heavy rain, Damian could see a car in front of them, and just in front of it was a car that smashed into a telephone pole. White smoke filtered up from the crumpled hood.

_ That’s not going to look pretty in any way. _ He sat back in his seat, and turned away from the sight, rubbing and clearing his throat. He bent down to grab his stuff and placed it back on the middle seat; but as he went back to search for his phone, and he found a rectangular device under the passenger seat, the case was blue, while his was gray.

“That’s mine,” Forger said, and he saw that she was offering him his phone. “Trade.” Without him accepting her offer, she snatched her phone out of his hand and replaced it with his own.

Damian mumbled a thanks and went about texting the dogsitter that he had experienced unprecedented traffic, and would be much longer than anticipated.

The rain continued to pound on the taxi roof as they waited for the crash up ahead to be dealt with. It was almost five minutes when sirens were heard, and blue and red flashing lights mimicked a lighthouse. The ambulance stopped next to the car, and the paramedics barely waited before it came to a full stop to leap out. Damian craned his neck to try and see past to the victims.  _ They better be fine. _

“They’ll be alright.”

Damian turned his head to Forger. “Excuse me?”

Forger eyes were wide, as if she realized something. Her hands clamped into each other. “I mean- the crash up there doesn’t look that bad. I know crashes, and this one is an easy fix. Well, yeah, they’re knocked out, but they’ll be fine.”

He narrowed his eyes. “How do you know they’re knocked out?”

Forger pinched her lips, and side-eyed him. “Anybody after a crash would be in a state of shock. I’m guessing they had their seatbelts on, but even then, their shock would usually have them get out of the car in a daze. When they’re knocked out, they just slump in the car. Got it?”

“I know what people do when they’re knocked out.”

Forger’s eyebrow twitched. “Oh really? I was just making sure.”

“Well, thank you, miss expert, for enlightening a lowly civilian like myself.”

“You are very welcome, mister  _ commoner _ .”

They both knew that she misstepped. Damian was taken aback, and Forger stiffened. Damian didn’t realize they had been leaning towards each other until he sat back. His eyes stayed fixed with hers and Forger’s mouth set into an uneasy line.

She was the first to breathe. “Sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“No, no, you’re right. Call me what I am. A commoner. A peasant. It’s what I get, right?”

Forger closed her mouth, then opened it again. “It’s not that bad. Being a commoner, you know.”

“You said it as something bad.”  _ Because you know that it was something I hated, and never thought I would become. _

Forger pinched her mouth into a frustrated seam. “You’re doing well for yourself. That’s all that matters.”

It sounded forced. But not quite insincere. And she was right. He was doing well; he had an apartment, a stable job, and a dog to go home to. But it still forced him to wonder: how did he get here?

The taxi started to roll forward slowly, and curved with the traffic cones set in place in record time. They both looked out the window as the crash scene passed them by.

“They’ll be fine. . . .” Forger mumbled.

Damian said, not of his own decision, “I hate crashes.”

It was all too familiar. His father died in a car crash. Well, it was just his luck that he didn’t leave the house in years, let alone enter a car, and the first time he did since Damian could remember, he crashes. The driver was never found. Probably fled the scene like a coward. Damian morbidly hoped that the driver died from blood loss in some disgusting ditch.

Forger whipped her head back at him, once the crash was out of sight. Damian snapped his attention to her, and her minty eyes bore into his.

Like they always did. And probably always will.

“A lot of terrible things happen in this world, Damian. But some happen for good reason.”

It was like she grabbed his voice and threw it away. She knew what he was thinking. How, he did not know. But she knew. She always knew. His anger and confusion boiled in him, but had no outlet. He trembled, and clenched his fists, but turned away and stared out the window.

Of course she would know. It was in the newspaper, afterall.  _ NUPO President Donovan Desmond Dies in Car Accident. _ No one could miss it.

“How do you know which is which, Forger?”

_ He deserved it.  _ The worst part of Damian whispered. 

_ Have you no shame?  _ The decent part of Damian shouted.

“It’s because you’re a police investigator, now, isn’t it? And I’m just some commoner at a dead end job to you.”

“I don’t think it’s a dead end job,” Forger said indignantly.

“Then what is it, Forger?”

“You work at a government faculty! How is that a dead end job?”

“Is there really anything else I can do with being a librarian, Forger? Will I be respected in any social circle that knows my background?”

“Maybe you’re not looking in the right circles, then!”

“My father was the National Unity of Ostania president, and my brother became one of the most well-respected scholars in the country! What do I have to show for it? My ability to alphabetize? Hell, I was only hired by that damn place because I went to Eden.” His head fell into his palm, covering his eyes.

She was silent for a moment. Then asked, “Why aren’t you saying my name, Damian?”

It made his head fly up from his hand. “Excuse me?”

She was unmovable, and her brows slanted in his once favorite serious way. “We knew each other once-”

“It was in high school, Forger.”

“Yeah- all in the past and all that crap- but why have you always been so stubborn?”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk. You wouldn’t step out of the way of a car with the brakes cut off if someone told you to.”

Her anger was boiling over in her, he could see, as her scowl deepened and her whole body tensed. But then her shoulders slumped, and her face softened. “You’re not the only one with issues, you know.” She turned, and seemed to stare into her memories, like she was still there. “My pa died, too. My ma went to prison, then was executed. Do you know what people think when they know my ma is a convicted criminal that was sentenced to death, while I work in the police department?”

Again, he was caught off guard, like she made it a challenge to. He didn’t know her father had died. Nor her mother. . . . It almost made him think,  _ I’m not alone then.  _ But that is cruel.

Instead, he murmured, “My condolences to you.”

“That’s very sweet of you.” Forger smoothed down her hair, and let her hands rest at her nape. She exhaled with a humorless laugh. “We bring out the worst of each other, don’t we, Damian?”

He slid his gaze to the window, and the raindrops that clung for dear life on the glass. Under his breath, he said, “The absolute worst.”

The taxi turned, and suddenly, Damian realized it was 513 Avenue. He scooted up and slid the barrier aside. “Fifth one on the right.” The taxi driver obliged, and parked in front of his apartment complex. 

Damian gathered his things, opened the door to immediately replace it with his umbrella, and stepped out. Before he could close the door, Forger leaned across the seats, with her sympathetic smile that had always made his heart melt in high school, and said, “Have a good night, Damian. And just so you know, being the national librarian is not a dead end job by any means of the word.” Her minty eyes dared him to say otherwise.

His chest swelled with pride, as he briefly focused on her eyelashes fluttering like butterflies over mint leaves; but he shoved it away.  _ She’s lying. Don’t be weak. _

So, he said, “Thank you, Anya Forger.” And shut the door. But not without seeing her smile fall. The taxi drove away as he climbed the steps, and was gone once he reached his door.

Damian announced his entrance, and was met with a bouncing ball of black and brown joy running down the hall. Ophelia yipped and jumped up to stretch her legs against his thigh. Damian smiled and played with her floppy ears. The dogsitter was more hesitant than the dog, and quickly went through her report. She had cleaned up the mess that Ophelia had made, but both had stuck to the rest of the routine that evening. Damian reached into his pocket and pulled out the promised fee, and let the teenager with braces escape to her apartment on the opposite side of the building.

He shrugged off his jacket, let it crumble to the floor, and sauntered to his gray couch. “This was a mistake, Ophelia.” He whistled and wiggled his fingers at her, and she happily dragged a toy duck over and up on the cushion. Damian grabbed it and threw it across the room into the kitchen. Ophelia barked and chased after it. “I should have known I was going to have a bad time. And see her again.”

Damian slumped over onto the couch as Ophelia ran with the toy in her mouth, wagging her tail so much that her whole body wiggled. He couldn’t help but smile. “How did we get here, Ophelia?” He tugged the toy away and threw it over the couch. Ophelia disappeared to find it.

She knew how he ticked, even after all these years. She knew just how to get his anger, his sorrow, his pride, to shine through the clouds that were his wall from the world. The world was always out to get him. He was born unlucky.

They say life is a box of chocolates. One never knows what one will get. For him, though, the box of chocolates wasn’t life, it was Anya.

And he was still infatuated with her.

All in the wrong ways.

Ophelia jumped over the arm of the couch and strutted up to his face. She dropped the duck under his nose, and it reeked. “Ugh, we’re going to have to add brushing your teeth to the dogsitter’s list.” He sat up and grabbed Ophelia by the armpits. “Your breath stinks, you little nuisance.” But her only reaction was trying to kiss him with her smelly tongue. He let go and threw the toy again. She jumped off the couch after it.

“What happened, Ophelia?”

They had loved each other, once upon a time. Her kisses were chocolate, from orange cream to caramel to coconut. Her hand was a cage for his. She pushed his buttons until he was a broken TV remote. But they were never serious. Why would he expect anything more?

Ophelia hopped onto the couch, but without her toy. Instead, she flopped next to him, resting her chin on his neck. His hand idly scratched her back.

But one fateful day, his father died. And she disappeared without a trace. She stopped kissing him, meeting him, looking at him. She was just gone, like she never existed. She must have moved away, or else he saw a ghost today.

She dropped him into the ocean without a lifeboat. And he was alone once again, his only company being his grief, and his family’s dwindling money. Eventually, he made it here, to his modest apartment.

No one could stare him in the eye like she did. Straight on, unblinking, and whole-heartedly honest. He missed honesty. It was such a rarity. So, when she left, she left him falsity and the unspoken words he was never privy to.

He thought he was safe from the tears. It had been years, and he thought he was finally able to escape her knowing eyes.

Yet, here he was, whispering to himself like a fool to keep the stone in his throat from growing, “What happened, Anya?”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my goodness! I forgot to mention that the plot is based a lot on a song I love: Your Ex Lover is Dead. It's by Stars and is great, check it out when you can.


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